


say my name

by endlessdaydreaming



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Enemies With Benefits, Everyone Needs Hugs, F/M, archie is jealous af, betty needs some loving, enemies turned lovers, jughead needs some loving, sexy jughead, veronica is a momma bear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-19 07:37:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11308752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endlessdaydreaming/pseuds/endlessdaydreaming
Summary: Everything in Betty Cooper's life was unremarkably constant: Please her mother, envy her sister, pine over Archie, cheerleading with Veronica, write for the Blue and Gold with Kevin, and repeat — until Jughead Jones comes crashing back into her life, with leather jacket, crown beanie, dangerous smile and all.[Aka that Bughead secret enemies-with-benefits-turned-lovers that I have been dying to read but no one has written yet, where Jughead is a Southside Serpent and Betty had always wanted to be corrupted; featuring sexy af Jughead, slowly corrupted Betty, protective Veronica, and jealous Archie; also angst, issues, pretentious writing, smut, and slow updates.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so I'm relatively new to this writing fandom although not new to writing fanfiction; I was mainly dissatisfied with the "soft" jughead I've been seeing around and wanted a tougher one, so this was born. Hopefully it isn't too bad. And although the characters may seem a bit OOC, it's because Betty's going on a trip to self-discovery and Jughead has changed; they're both wearing their masks, but we'll get to the bughead love we all adore. 
> 
> On a side note there might be slight Archie bashing in here somewhere, whoops.

Betty Cooper wasn't one to dwell on daydreams she could never really have; but a small part of her, the part that has stubbornly held on to hoping for better and brighter days, just wouldn't give up wishing she could have Archie's heart the way he had hers wrapped around his little finger. It isn’t fair, but Betty has long accepted that life was never fair to her anyway. 

So really, it’s a typical Friday night high school party where Betty is glued to the sidelines, trying to ignore the image of Archie and Val's sickeningly sweet smiles and intertwined hands from the corner of her eye. The couple is mushed together in a small love seat at the other end of the room, oblivious to everyone else in the room. And while Betty knows she should be happy for her childhood best friend, she just can’t bring herself to stomach seeing them together. 

"Stop fidgeting B," Veronica chides, clutching Betty's hand to keep her from tugging her dress down. "You look great, very bombshell chic."

Betty grimaces and tries not to feel too ridiculous in one of Veronica's scandalously tight and short black dresses. Veronica insisted that she show off her apparently long legs tonight, forcing her into the dress that’s making Betty feel way too self-conscious. It’s so out of her comfort zone, and although she loves Veronica for constantly daring her to try new things and discover her true self, there are days she feels awful enough about herself that she just wants to hide.

And today is one of those days.

 Someone bumps into her then, the red plastic cup she’s holding swishing around dangerously at the movement. She’s jarred out of her thoughts, blue eyes snapping into focus to meet stormy grey ones. "Juggie," she catches herself murmuring, more out of surprise than anything. She hasn't really been this close to her former childhood friend in ages.

Jughead brushes his dark, touseled locks away from his eyes, and re-adjusts the crown beanie on his head. "Hey, princess,” he acknowledges, taking a step back. His dark brow arches as he takes in her whole look for the night, and Betty does the same, noting the usual Southside Serpents leather jacket, flannel shirt, and dark jeans,

 _Princess_ , he called her. Not sweetly, nor endearingly, but mockingly, as if he knew where to hit where it hurt; as if he knew bringing her back to the old days where they were too young to care about anything else but dress-up and plastic sword fights would unbalance her.

And it did. Jughead had always knew the right things to say; whether it be to help her or to hurt her. 

Betty clenches her free hand into a fist, feeling her irritation simmering to the surface, and surpasses it by digging her nails into her palms. "Don't call me that," she says softly, too soft, making it drown against the thumping bassline of the party music.

He merely looks at her, gaze piercing and expression eerily closed-off. The edge of his lip quirks before he leaves, not quite a smile but not quite anything else either, and it leaves Betty all the more frustrated because everything in her life was constant, except Jughead Jones who had become an unknown and unreadable variable.

"God he's weird," Veronica declares suddenly from beside her. "In a dark, mysterious, kind of sexy way, sure, but still plenty weird."

"He wasn't always like that," Betty finds herself explaining. She wonders briefly why she seemed to work auto-pilot when it came to Jughead, but brushes it aside as quick as it came. "He used to be a lot nicer. And happier," she adds as an afterthought, like how the good old days were all just afterthoughts now.

Betty watches Jughead refill his plastic red cup from one of the kegs, watching how people seem to just make way for him without another word. Maybe it’s the leather jacket, or the brooding look in his eyes, but Betty can’t help but think that Jughead Jones had turned into someone else in a span of a summer. Although they haven’t really been talking since freshman year, Jughead mostly kept to himself, until summer had ended and he came back with that leather jacket, cloaking him into a different person entirely. Gone were the huddled in shoulders and downturned gazes he usually carried himself with, and instead he brought a new kind of demeanour and confidence with him now. On one hand, Betty’s relieved that Jughead isn’t bullied anymore, but on the other, she has no idea who this new person is anymore.

Veronica looks at Betty, and for a while it seems she might push for more details. But she's interrupted by Cheryl Blossom making her way to them, in all her fiery red locks and just-as-red dress glory.

Betty doesn't miss the way Veronica stiffens and steels herself at the other girl's approaching form. She offers Veronica a small squeeze of her hand in support.

"Time to join the festivities, ladies," Cheryl giggles at them, hand propped up on her hip. "It's spin the bottle time, so pucker up and try not to enjoy making out with each other too much. The rest of us want to keep our dinners in our stomachs."

"If I didn't know any better Cheryl, you'd love to see us make out again," Veronica challenges. It was the right thing to say to piss Veronica off enough to actually join in Cheryl's twisted games. She’s already dragging Betty along with her to follow Cheryl into the living room, where a group of people are already sitting in a circle on the rug, while some spectators are leaning against the wall.

Betty sees Jughead somewhere to the left of them, leaning against the fireplace with Joaquin in their matching Serpent leather jackets. She ignores him and tries not to feel his eyes following her.

"The usual rules for some good old fun, kids," Cheryl announces as she took her place in-between Reggie and Moose. Betty and Veronica sits between Josie and Melody, who made more space for them with a soft smile in greeting. "Whoever the bottle's tip and end points to gets a 7-second kiss in front of everybody. And after, whoever the tip points to gets to pick who to bring into the closet for some 7 minutes in heaven -- no rules for that, so go wild sluts," Cheryl smirks, all red lips and feral teeth. "So without further ado..."

The bottle was already spinning by the time the nervousness pounding against Betty's head dies down to register what it was she had gotten herself in. The last time she took part in Cheryl's twisted version of this game, Archie and Val happened, and she had gone home early because she did't want to cry in front of everyone. She promises herself to stick this one out this time, no matter what happened.

Then the bottle stops in front of her, and her earlier resolve dissolves into air as quick as the air in her lungs does. The end of the bottle faces her, while the other.. 

...doesn't really point to anyone. It's pointing to somewhere in the middle of Archie and Jason -- exactly towards a pair of combat boots outside the circle.

Betty knows who they belonged to, and refuses to think his name in this context.

"I guess I'll take this one then, if Jason doesn't want it?" Archie nonchalantly offers, and it's in the way he says it in that I-couldn't-care-less manner that hits Betty hard; he may not have meant it in that way, Archie would never, but it hurts all the same, that after years and years Betty is still an "I guess" and a "if someone doesn't wan't it."

"Hold it, Andrews."

The room freezes, drops a few degrees the same way it heats up with tension. Betty's eyes are still trailed on the floor, willing herself not to cry, _goddamnit Cooper you're a strong girl,_ and it isn't until she is being tugged to stand up that she startles to find herself looking down at combat boots, and then up into stormy grey eyes twinkling against the low lights of the living room. 

Betty barely gets a chance to register what's happening, because Jughead's mouth is already on her, hands on both side of her face to pull her up towards him. And her brain short circuits because it isn't anything quite like she experienced before -- it's warm and firm and wet and _dirty,_ with his teeth nipping at her lower lip and his tongue snaking in her mouth to swallow her gasp of surprise. He mouth is relentless, unyielding, and he kisses her like he can't get enough, like he would die if his mouth leaves hers, and all Betty can do is hold on as he takes control.

And as soon as it started it's over, with Jughead pulling away slowly, a filthy, wet sound leaving their lips. Betty is heaving because she pretty sure she forgot how to breathe, and the lack of oxygen has left her dazed; but she's already being dragged somewhere by warm, calloused hands, and before she knows it she's inside Cheryl Blossom's closet, the door closing shut behind her, sending her into complete darkness. 

"You okay, Princess?" Jughead asks. His voice is a little raspy, Betty notes, and she can't see him in this darkness, but her brain is back online and realizes everything that's happened in the past few seconds. Her hand touches her lips even as she feels the heat flushing her cheeks.

"You kissed me," she says slowly, letting it sink into her as well. She can see the vague outlines of Jughead in front of her, barely touching but almost, his arms pinned at either side of her head.

He chuckles as he shifts around, accidentally hitting a box somewhere to their right. It's a cramped closet, and this is all the space they're going to get, so he stops moving and seems to accepts this with a resigned sigh. "I think the proper description of what we did is that I made out with you."

"But why?" Betty asks, scrunching her brows together in confusion, still unable to comprehend why he would do that. She tries to mull over why she isn't bothered that he did, just that she wonders _why_ he did. She's no stranger to kissing and making out, but she was new to the desire that seemed to have seeped into her skin now, the imprints of Jughead's lips still burning against hers.

Betty doesn't even bother trying to figure out what that meant for her.

Jughead lets out a huff of amusement. "Because Betty Cooper, I will take any chance I can get to piss off Archie Andrews. And you, princess, are the perfect weapon."

And there it is. No one really wanted Betty unless it was for some other end goal -- help for homework, answers for tests, tutoring for lessons, perfect image for parading around others, for shits and giggles -- she's heard it all and frustratingly enough, done it all too. She doesn't even blame anyone but herself, because she let them use her even despite knowing all of it.

Betty Cooper is all about being useful, after all, if nothing else. This is what she knows how to do, and this is perhaps all she will ever amount to.

So she accepts Jughead's premise in stride. If her palms have slightly red marks in them as evidence of her never ending battle with herself, then so be it.

"So what now?" Betty asks, her voice wavering even as she wills it not to.

"Now I give you a choice, Princess," Jughead says, his voice turning rough around the edges. He leans in and she can see the outlines of him better now, his breath warm as he speaks inches from her own lips. "We can either ignore each other until time's up and keep everyone guessing about what happened in here, or," he pauses, leaning even closer, until his hair brushes against her forehead and his lips ghost over hers. "I can make you feel like you've never felt before and let everyone out there know exactly what we're doing."

Betty's heart stops for a few seconds, clenching painfully in her chest as the air in her lungs leaves her. She feels warm and intoxicated, not from alcohol but on the feel of Jughead's lips on hers. And although she is terrified of what might happen and the aftermath proceeding it, the look in Jughead's eyes that shine in the darkness anchors her to this very moment, bodies almost pressing against each other, lips hovering inches away, breaths heaving as one.

She tells herself this is to help him get back at Archie. Or to help _her_ get back at Archie. She takes in the look in his eyes, the sound of his shuddering breaths, the pounding of her heart in her ears, and knows deep down that she will never come out of this the same; that there will be nothing constant in her life anymore after this.

And that's why she does it.

She's already snaking her hands around the nape of his neck, gliding against his leather jacket before digging in his hair. She needs to hold on to him, to anchor herself lest she gets blown away by the storm in her eyes.

"Why don't we break some of your rules, Princess?" he taunts against her lips, teasing and smirking and all out smug as if he knows what's coming next and wants her to make the first step.

"There are no rules in here," she replies, and is surprised at the confidence laced in every word, every whisper that leaves her lips.

Jughead's hands rest on her hips as he leans in to nuzzle her neck, and she gasps as he hikes one of her legs up, wrapping it around his waist. His arousal is evident against her warm core, and when he grinds his hips up against her she throws her head back in a breathy moan, slowly spiralling out of control.

"That's it Princess," he growls against her ear, pulling her closer, holding her tighter.

"Juggie," Betty breathes out, a shaky one that leaves her lips and takes the last of her control with her.

Jughead kisses her then, all wet mouth and talented tongue again, licking his way inside her like a promise of things to come. It's dirty and hot and the warmth pools down Betty's body even as her skin heats up. Betty can barely think, having just enough conscious thought to think this must be what being on drugs feels like, because she feels high and out of control and so very alive all at once.

Jughead grinds against her again and again, pushing his hips against her core, and Betty mewls every time he hits a particularly pleasurable spot that sends electric jolts up her spine. She closes her eyes, gets lost in the moment, the feeling, _him,_ forgetting where they are and who is outside and who she even is.

For once she is anyone but Elizabeth Cooper.

Her back and head are digging painfully against the doorframe, but it does’t matter because Jughead is pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses on her neck. His hands are sliding up until they palm her breasts, squeezing until Betty moans his name for more. She can feel him grinning against her neck as he nips and licks his way down her collarbone. His hands tug the straps of her dress down, peeling the top of her dress down to expose her chest. She doesn’t even get the chance to cover herself from embarrassment, because already he’s kissing the top of her breasts, hands caressing her ribs. Before she can even catch her breath, he’s tugging her bra cups down, his mouth latching on to a nipple.

“Fuck,” Betty lets out, bucking into his mouth. Jughead pulls away at that, chuckling as he licks a hot stripe at her ear.

“I didn’t know you had it in you to say words like ‘Fuck,’ Princess,” he teases against her ear. “How about I make you say some more? Let them hear you curse my name,” he whispers, as one of his hands make their way under her dress, swiping a finger up her wet core. She bucks into the movement again, gasping for breath, utterly overwhelmed, and Jughead’s chuckling into her ear. “You’re so fucking responsive. I’d love to take my time with you, watch you come undone, but we’ve got a time limit to beat.”

Betty opens her mouth to question what he meant, only to let a load moan escape as his fingers slide into her panties, expertly rubbing at her clit. She’s embarrassingly wet, and her slick coats his fingers easily, letting them slide up and down in the kind of pleasure even she hasn’t experienced with herself. Maybe it’s his filthy mouth murmuring _that’s it Princess, fuck, ride my fingers_ and all sorts of other obscenities, or his other hand palming her breast, fingers flicking at her nipple, or the way his fingers rub at her gently yet urgently, or his arousal pressed firmly against her as he ruts against her — it’s everything all at once, and it’s so much foreign sensation that she reaches her high in a few seconds, moaning out his name as she comes. Jughead silences her with his mouth, kissing her as she rides out her high. 

When she feels herself back on her own two feet again, Jughead has his fingers in his mouth, tasting her essence. Her cheeks heat up again, but before she can say anything he’s righting her clothes, tugging up straps into their proper places. He bends down to pick something up, and as he moves back up he just barely whispers “I’ll keep this as a souvenir” before the door opens behind them. The harsh light makes her squint her eyes, highly disoriented, but Jughead easily steps around her.

“Thanks for the treat Cheryl,” Jughead calls out to their host, who had been the one to pull the door open on them.

He keeps walking, stepping in and out of the circle of dumbfounded people who, Betty notes, are looking a bit flushed. He stops by the doorframe that rounds into the hallway, looking back at Betty. As soon as their eyes meet, he takes the three fingers that were in his mouth and blows her a kiss, grinning even as Betty catches a flash of something black on his wrist as he disappears from view. She reaches up to her ponytail and confirms that he’s taken her scrunchie, now just realising that her hair is down in wild waves.

Now he’s just taken one more thing from her, and she can’t fathom why none of herself feels missing. Instead, she feels so incredibly _alive._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm supposed to be doing my thesis but all the love this fic has received brought an early update. if I don't graduate It's completely on all of you. Jk. More end notes but i'll let you get to the update for now. 
> 
> A few warnings: Archie is a bit of a dick in this fic; I also decided POV will be alternating so Jughead's POV this time around and well, he swears a lot so oops. Also i have no idea where this is going tbh so hopefully this all still makes sense.

Jughead Jones wasn’t always like this. He wasn’t always so rough around the edges, nor did he ever choose to be. But life had a way of dealing him shitty hands, and he just had to deal with the cards he was dealt. He was used to it all; no big deal.

But then life had dealt him with Betty Cooper, and for the first time in a long time he feels like he wants to fold.

It’s not that it’s his first encounter with her big, blue eyes and her pink, pouty lips. But he is so _fucking overwhelmed_ by the softness of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her moans — it’s taking over his mind and he feels like he’s drunk on _that moment_ , of his fingers in her, mouth on hers, _making sweet, innocent Betty come undone_. Of him and her and that small, dark closet. Of him losing control and getting in way over his head.

It’s stupid, frankly, to get caught up on one small incident from a stupid party game. But he knows he’s lying to himself — which has been his expertise — if he brushes it off as “one small incident.” There was never anything “small” about Betty Cooper, except maybe her physical stature. And that scared the shit out of him.

“You okay?” Joaquin asks. He doesn’t look at Jughead, staring into some faraway space, even if worry tinges his voice. A cigarette is dangling in-between his fingers as he anticipates a reply.

In typical Jughead fashion, he answers the question with another question. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

They are outside the Serpents’ headquarters by the abandoned Twilight drive-in, sitting on the back of FP’s pick-up truck. There’s nothing but empty land in front of them, but they stare at it as if it were as populated with movie-goers as it was before. Those were the better days, when Jughead was someone else; someone who would leave Betty Cooper alone, like he had promised himself back then. But times have changed, and his soul was apparently as empty as the drive-in; he’s hit an all new level of low and the self-depreciating smile that graces his lips is all he’ll allow himself to show of it.

Joaquin shrugs from beside Jughead, taking a long drag from the cigarette in-between his fingers.

Moments like this, under the dark serenity of the night with no one but Joaquin around, Jughead loses himself and lets the small scraps of his past self slip through the cracks. So he confesses to Joaquin in a low whisper, “I can’t do this. Not to her.”

And because Joaquin and Jughead have been through a lot more together than anyone their age probably has, Joaquin looks at him and says what Jughead won’t say out loud.

“But I think it’s a little too late for that." 

Jughead chuckles darkly, and it’s a sad sound that echoes around the empty lot. He wears the sarcasm in his tongue good-naturedly when he tells Joaquin, “Twist the knife in deeper, why don’t you.”

Joaquin doesn’t laugh. But he does put out his cigarette and hop off the pick-up truck, heading to his motorcycle. When Jughead doesn’t follow, he looks back, raising a questioning brow as he starts the engine.

Jughead follows Joaquin’s example, straddling his own bike, and following after his friend as they ride out of the parking lot. He’s learned not to ask questions if he doesn’t provide explanations in the first place. When your new family is the Southside Serpents, you learn the hard way that it’s better to act than to ask.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you in a masochistic mood or something?”

Jughead and Joaquin are standing outside Pop’s Chocklit Shoppe, turning off their motorcycle engines. Jughead continues to talk even if he doesn’t expect a reply from Joaquin, because he talks when he’s nervous and being out here is making him want to crawl out of his own skin, all the way back home — even if home meant the Serpents’ headquarters, because surely that was better than having to deal with all the memories that will assault him if he steps inside Pop’s. “Really Joaquin, I could just beat you up if you want, Fight Club style even, if that’s what you want. That would be infinitely better than going somewhere we’re not welcome.” 

Joaquin does his whole piercing gaze thing as he pushes the door to Pop’s open. As soon as the front door’s bells ring, Jughead feels like he can’t quite breathe. There was a time he’s heard that sound daily for most of his life, and Pop’s was one of the few places he ever really felt safe. But now it was one of those places that felt foreign to him, unwelcome, like he didn’t belong and was unworthy to be there, and even as his feet take him inside he feels a little bit like he’s walking to his grave.

“Jug.”

Jughead turns to whoever has called him, and really he was going to kill Joaquin — not literally but probably close enough — later on, because Archie Andrews is already standing from one of the booths, his latest interest Val eyeing Jughead from her seat.

Jughead quirks a grin, because these days that passes off as a weapon. By the narrowing of Archie’s brows, Jughead knows he looks smug enough to have pissed Archie off, and as petty as that is he counts that as a win. “Arch,” he greets in the same tone.

He doesn’t miss the irony in how they greet each other like old friends, as if nothing ever happened between them and they weren’t completely different people anymore, when in fact Jughead can’t even remember the last time they spoke.

“Stay away from Betty,” Archie warns, getting all up into Jughead’s space. The redhead is still wearing the clothes from the party, suggesting that he and Val ducked out early to head over here.

“A bit too late for that now, isn’t it?” Jughead replies, and he can’t stop the shit-eating grin that spreads across his face, because it’s goddamn _hilarious_ that he’s quoting Joaquin and Archie is so mad it’s practically _precious_.

Archie had always lacked finesse, being a Jock and all, so in a split second he’s already fisting Jughead’s shirt. “She doesn’t need someone like you in her life. Not anymore.”

Jughead isn’t fazed; he knows Archie is all bark and no bite. There’s an irritation that simmers underneath his skin, something that had always boiled over whenever Archie talked about Betty as if he actually had the right to. So Jughead does what he does best and uses his words to _hurt_. He grins wider and says, “That’s not what she said when my fingers were inside her.”

Jughead dodges Archie’s fist easily when the redhead’s temper finally flares, and Jughead doesn’t throw a punch back because gangster or not, he’s got some ethics no matter how twisted that may be, and he’s not going to beat up someone who doesn’t even know how to throw a proper punch. Archie tries to come at him again, but Joaquin holds the redhead back, drawling out a languid “Calm the fuck down, Andrews.”

The bell to Pop’s store rings again, and a new crowd of people from Cheryl’s party bustles in for a midnight snack, a typical practice in Riverdale that Jughead had forgotten. If he had remembered, he’d never allow himself to step foot in the diner, because he isn’t ready to see _her_ quite yet, not when he still feels so _out of control_. But there she is, walking in right after Veronica and Kevin, stopping whatever she was saying mid-sentence to look at him with those eyes that seem to see right through him.

“Get behind me, Betty,” Archie demands, even as he struggles out of Joaquin’s hold. “Jughead won’t hurt you again.” 

Jughead doesn’t even look at Archie; his eyes are glued on her, watching her flick her gaze from him to Archie and back, her expression slowly shifting from confused to determined. Before she even says anything Jughead’s heartbeat is already hammering against his ears, because Betty is nothing but extremely determined once she’s set on something, and the look in her eyes tells him he needs to brace himself for what’s going to come next. 

Betty opens her mouth to say something, but she can’t seem to find the right words. Her fists are balled up in fury, and _god_ Jughead is so _done_ because suddenly he’s hyper-aware of the way her chest heaves, her cheeks flush, her eyes glimmer all from her righteous anger and indignation. She is fucking glorious when she’s angry and it’s doing weird things to him to see her in this new light. He’s so distracted that he only realises that she’s stepped towards him and grabbed his hand when she’s already dragging him outside the door and into the cold night; her small fingers are surprisingly strong, tugging him along with a strength he knew was in her all along but she never really showed. Her hair is billowing behind her from the wind, and it’s only when he realises her fingers are cold to the touch that he digs his heels in to stop her.

“Wait,” he says, tugging on her hand to get her to stop. “What are you doing?”

Betty finally stops, turning to look at him. He can barely see her in the darkness of Pop’s parking lot, but even under the harsh lighting of the streetlights she is ethereal, and Jughead is trying _so damn hard_ to not pull her to him. There is an inexplicable need in him to hold her and protect her and hide her away, and yet there is fire in her eyes and strength in her hands that makes him want to slam her up against the nearest surface and fuck her until she can’t walk. She is driving him mad without even doing anything and it’s _killing him_ , because he doesn’t understand how she has managed to crawl her way underneath his skin when he has tried so damn hard to forget all these feelings he had for her — or all the feelings he had in general — so long ago.

“Juggie,” she begins, even if she still seems like she’s struggling to translate her anger into words. “I’ve had enough of people telling me what to do. I just — It’s my life, isn’t it? Don’t i get to live it?” She’s looking at him like she’s looking for answers, searching for them in his eyes.

Jughead pulls away, dropping her hand and shoving his own inside his pockets so that maybe — just maybe — he can also shove all his emotions back inside himself. He feels so utterly exposed under the harsh streetlight, under her penetrating gaze, under the expanse of night sky. 

“If you’re looking for answers, Princess, you won’t find them with me,” he says slowly, evenly, not trusting his voice to betray how whacked she’s turned his emotions to be in a span of one night.

Betty shakes her head, arms wrapping around herself to rub some warmth into her shoulders. Jughead’s fingers twitch inside his pockets, almost moving to hold her, warp himself around her, give her a jacket — anything, _everything_ — but he manages to stop himself. “I don’t need answers,” she replies.

He knows he’ll regret asking, but he asks anyway because apparently, like he told Joaquin, maybe they’re both in a masochistic mood today. “What do you need then?”

She seems to ponder on it, huddling into herself and looking small and lost. “I don’t know,” she finally whispers, so softly Jughead barely hears if it wasn’t for the quiet of the night.

He hates that look. He hates that lost, far-away gaze in her eyes, that surrendering slump of her shoulders, that half-assed answer. He hates that he still wants to kiss her and touch her and fuck her. He hates that she has reduced him to _this_. He hates everything she stands for; the past he’s left behind, the person he’s forgotten how to be, and the person he can never really have. He hates _her._

And really, that’s why he hates himself, too.

So it really didn’t surprise himself when his brain runs on auto-pilot and pulls her towards him, kissing her like his every breath was found in hers. He sucks on her bottom lip, swiping his tongue across so that she could open up, and when she does so with a little mewl he goes _wild_. He needs more, more of her, more of this fire in his bones and drunken high in his subconscious, so he plunges his tongue inside her mouth and slides his hands down her back to caress the swell of her ass. When she moans in his mouth and clutches at his jacket, he knows he can’t stop anymore. He tears his mouth from hers to growl in her ear.

_“I think I know what you might need.”_

If he was going to hell, he might as well enjoy the ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First though I just wanted to say that oh my god you guys are insane; it's the first time I've had this amount of kudos, comments, and hits in just one chapter of a fic, EVER, and I've written a few fics for other fandoms in different sites before. Thank you so much for all the love and i promise to reply to all your comments just let me get back to my thesis lol. But at least, if you want a quicker update you know what to do ;) ;) ;) 
> 
> Also I promise more smut for the next update so don't kill me, lol. Also dark!Jughead who's so in love with Betty is life. I don't know if it's just me, but this is the best my mind can craft Jughead ever. This chapter kind of pointed and hinted towards some questions you may have about the plot, and that was on purpose so you'll just have to follow along if you want your answers ;)


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